


We're going to dance

by Jadesymb



Series: Instincts [2]
Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: First Meetings, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-14
Updated: 2012-09-14
Packaged: 2017-11-14 04:56:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/511549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jadesymb/pseuds/Jadesymb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil Coulson always had a thing for archers.    Clint and Coulson meet for the first time.  Pre-Slash.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We're going to dance

Nick Fury entered Phil’s office and slid two files across the desk. “Got a protection detail for you.” Coulson, working away on his computer, didn’t respond. They both knew the last time Coulson had gone into the field had been a disaster. 

Coulson had only gone from field agent to lead agent and handler in the last year. He loved being able to make everything on an op come together, to see all the details and find the way to make things work. This innate talent, a mask of unwavering self-confidence and a dogged desire to keep his agents alive, made his quick promotion undisputed. With such high expectations, the reality of inevitable failure kept Phil up at night. 

He’d lost three agents last time out. He’d tried to resign when he came back in, but Nick flat out refused to accept, asserting that if it hadn’t been for Phil, they’d have lost twice that number, at least. Then Nick had made him take a week off. Coulson had been back on duty for exactly thirty minutes when Nick’s one eye met Coulson’s two across the desk.

“Joni Richards. She’s the daughter of Neil Richards, a small time drug dealer who accidently got in over his head with a terrorist organization called AIM. Neil has been feeding us information on AIM in return for protection from the terrorists. AIM ordered a hit on Joni as payback. We’ve agreed to keep her safe in return for Neil’s continued cooperation. The contract was taken by a mercenary named Barton. He’s an ex-army sniper who SHIELD has run into before. About six months ago, we brought in another terrorist for interrogation. He was safely in SHIELD custody. Barton managed to take a kill shot right under our noses. Pissed off everyone involved. Worse, he got away clean. Took us a few weeks to identify him and track him down. He’s good. Get a team together, get down to the college Joni Richards is attending. We’d like to try and take out Barton before the hit occurs, if possible, and without Joni being aware of what is going on. If you feel she is in too much danger, take her into custody.” Nick stood, leaned across the desk and squeezed Phil’s shoulder. “What happened wasn’t your fault. The op went south. It happens to the best of us.” Fury exited and left Phil alone with the files. 

The first file was labeled Clinton F. Barton. Phil opened the file to find a picture of Barton, wearing a ridiculous costume composed of purple spandex, holding an archer’s pose, with the words “World’s Greatest Marksman” printed at the bottom of the photo, like it was an ad. Fury hadn’t mentioned that Barton got his start as a circus performer. Despite the purple and his obvious youth in the photo, Barton struck Phil as being incredibly sexy. The Archery thing only added to the general attractiveness. Phil’s first love had always been Captain America, but he had always had a thing for archers. Something about the way they used their whole body to take the shot. It had started when he was young, watching Robin Hood, and had moved on to include almost anyone with a bow and arrow.

“You have got to be kidding me,” Phil couldn’t help but mumble to himself, and with that, he began reading the file. Barton had been taking mercenary work for about a year now, and was credited with fifteen kills, and five more suspected kills. All twenty of them were bad news: drug lords, terrorist, serial killers, and one known rapist. The specificity with which Barton seemed to be selecting contracts surprised Phil. Fury’s story and Barton’s choices warned Coulson that this man was definitely not a typical mercenary.

\-----

The music thrummed loudly, and Coulson felt the bass it in his bones. This club was not a place he would have chosen to be, but Joni Richards liked to party hard on the weekends. Coulson sat in a dark corner of the club, with a drink on the table for cover. He expected Barton to be aloft so he was monitoring the catwalk, rafters, and air ducts.

“Agent Coulson,” said Sitwell’s voice over the comm in Coulson’s ear, “Status?” Coulson’s eyes swung back down to the dance floor as he confirmed the blonde Joni Richards, dressed in a black corset-style dress, was still with her friends.

“She’s on the dance floor. Any luck locating Barton?” Coulson spoke quietly into his comm. 

“No sign on the roof, all points of entry are covered. If he shows up now, we’ve got him.” Sitwell replied. Coulson shook his head a fraction, not yet willing to voice his concern. He knew that there was something odd about this operation and his instincts were screaming that Barton was already here. He flicked his eyes back to all the likely spots a sniper would choose, but still saw nothing. Frustration mounting, he turned his attention back to the dance floor.

After a couple of songs, Coulson observed that Joni had picked up a dance partner. A dark haired man in a black tank top with black cargo pants. The man’s back was to Coulson, and Coulson was working hard to avoid enjoying the view. The thick muscles of the man’s arms flexed seductively, and the man’s back was dripping with sweat, the shirt sticking against him like a second skin, outlining the rest of his well defined torso. The pants sagged, revealing the very top of the man’s ass as he ground his hips against Ms. Richards. Coulson pulled his eyes up and sternly ordered himself to stop ogling the meat market. This was life and death for Joni Richards. Suddenly, the dark haired man glanced up and over his shoulder, looking at a spot in the upper corner of the club. Coulson followed his glance, and saw movement in the rafters.

“North corner, in the rafters, do we have someone there?” Coulson asked into the comm. 

“No Sir.” Sitwell replied.

“Then get someone there now, I think that’s where Barton is.” Coulson stood and moved toward the dance floor, planning to place himself between Ms. Richards and the sniper, if needed. It was only as he got closer that he realized the dark haired man was covering Joni with his body, dancing between her and the potential sniper’s shot. The man glanced up again, and Phil could make out his facial features better, see the light glinting off his eyes. Coulson’s blood ran cold. The man dancing with Joni Richards was Clint Barton.

“I’ve got eyes on Barton. He’s on the dance floor with Ms. Richards. He’s dyed his hair black, dressed all in black. Moving in now.” Coulson said into the comm as he pushed his way through the crowd. He risked a quick glance over his shoulder, back to the north corner, and there was definitely someone up there with a gun. “I still need a report on the second potential perp in the north corner.” What was Barton’s game? Was he shielding his mark from another sniper in order to ensure he got final payment? Why was he going in close for the kill? The file showed Barton always took out his marks from as far away as possible, often making stunningly accurate shots at what should be impossible ranges. Something was definitely not adding up, and he hated it when the pieces didn’t fit together. 

“I’ve got eyes on a sniper in the north corner,” Agent Jay reported. “He looks ready to fire!”

“Can you take him out?” 

“Need to get closer.” 

“THEN GET CLOSER! As soon as you have the shot, you are authorized to take it.” Coulson was about to step down onto the dance floor, even though he knew that it would be harder to track Barton once they were on the same level. Barton turned his head again to check the sniper, this time Phil’s eyes met his. 

Barton moved suddenly, shifting again, trying to cover the mark from both the sniper’s angle and from Coulson’s, and began herding Ms. Richards away from Phil and off the dance floor. 

“Barton’s heading toward the South exit. I’m in pursuit.” Coulson skirted along the edge of the dance floor, subtly drawing his gun and attempting to beat Barton around to the exit. He looked back up at the north corner and realized suddenly that if Barton took the mark out that door, when they stepped off the dance floor, they would be in the sniper’s line of sight for a few seconds. “We need that sniper taken care of before Barton reaches the exit. Status?”

The silence that followed his request made his blood run cold. “Agent Jay, report!”

More silence.

“Sitwell, get Jay backup, now.“

“Yes Sir.” 

Coulson was about 20 feet from the exit when Barton shoved Ms. Richards toward it. He still seemed to be covering her body with his. Barton’s eyes were turned towards the sniper, and he suddenly dove towards Ms. Richards, shoving her to the ground. The atmosphere of the club made the gunshot inaudible. Coulson saw where the bullet impacted the exit door, missing Barton by barely an inch. Barton was yanking the door open and shoving the girl out when another shot fired, the door frame splintering as both Barton and the mark ducked outside. 

The door slammed closed behind Barton and Coulson knew he was putting himself in the sniper’s line of sight to follow them, but he wasn’t willing to let the assassin escape with his target if he could avoid it. Coulson burst out into the dimly light alleyway to see Barton fifteen feet away, leading Ms. Richards’ by the hand at a run. 

Before Coulson could act, Sitwell stepped out from a dark corner beyond the pair, leveling his gun at Barton, “FREEZE!” Sitwell’s voice echoed over the comms and down the alley. 

Barton ground to a halt, using his momentum to pull Ms. Richards safely behind him. His head turned back toward the club and then his steel blue eyes locked on Coulson. 

Suddenly Barton spun, a gun appearing in his hand, his muscular back toward Phil. In that split second, Coulson raised his weapon. He wasn’t sure who Barton was going to shoot, Ms. Richards or Sitwell, but either was an unacceptable loss. Coulson didn’t think about it at the time, but later, he’d swear to Fury it was instinct that made him go for a wounding shot instead of a kill. His shot winged the back of Barton’s right shoulder just as Barton fired. Joni Richards screamed. Both Barton and Sitwell tumbled in unison toward the ground. When Barton hit the sidewalk, the gun slipped from his fingers and skittered just out of his reach. 

“Barton! Do not move!” Coulson then spoke into his comm, “We need an extraction from the back alley. We’re taking the mark and Barton into custody. Barton is my prisoner. Contain, do not kill.” In light of the problems with this op, Coulson was fully prepared to suffer Fury’s wrath for acting against orders. Coulson kept his gun trained on Barton. The assassin's hand twitched, fingers reaching slightly towards the gun in the street. 

“What the HELL is going on?” Ms. Richards yelled, then sunk to the ground and began having mild hysterics. 

Coulson’s eyes never left Barton’s. “Ms. Richards, we are taking you into protective custody. Barton, do not make me shoot you again. Sitwell?”

“Fuck that hurt. I’m all right. Vest got it.” Sitwell slowly began sitting up. “Hey Coulson, didn’t Fury order us to take him out?”

“Stop the chatter and get Ms. Richards to safety.” Coulson heard a vehicle coming down the street, and hoped it was their ride. 

“Coulson, is it?” Barton’s voice was rough with pain. “Have you got anyone on the roof?” 

Sitwell replied, “I pulled the team off the roof to help Agent Jay.” Coulson raised an eyebrow.

“Okay then, um, Coulson?” Barton lifted his head and looked back at Coulson, “I’ve gotta do something, and I’d rather you not shoot me.” Before Coulson could reply, Barton rolled right over his injured side, used his left hand to pull a gun from one of the pockets in his cargo pants, and the sound of the shot echoed in the alley way. Coulson’s finger jumped on the trigger, but he did not fire. Clint’s shot had been upwards, and the gun was not pointed at anyone in the alley. A strange grunt came from somewhere above them.

“Barton. Put the gun down, slowly, and do not even think to point it in the general direction of anyone.” Barton, flat on his back now, had his left hand stretched above him, gun gripped tightly. He very slowly moved his fingers off the trigger, splayed his hand as unthreateningly as possible, and carefully lowered the gun to the alley sidewalk.

“What did you shoot?” Coulson asked as he moved closer, kicking the gun away from Barton. Barton glared up at him from the ground as the SHIELD van finally moved into sight, blocking the alleyway. Sitwell was up, moving Ms. Richards into the van.

“The mercenary who took Joni’s contract after I turned down the contract and returned the wire transfer.” Barton stayed on his back, blood slowly pooling from where Coulson had shot him. The wound looked worse on this side. “I half expect his body to fall on you, so you might want to move.” Something warm and wet dripped from overhead onto Coulson’s forehead, but he ignored it. A few more SHIELD agents moved in.

“Cover him, I’m going to search him.” Coulson put his gun back in the holster and bent down cautiously. “Don’t move Barton. I don’t know how twitchy the other agents are feeling right now.” Coulson did his best to disconnect how well put together the man bleeding on the street was as he ran his hands over Barton’s body. He found two more guns and six knives. “Did I miss anything?” 

“Impressively, no.” Barton was smirking, “sorry about bleeding all over your suit.” 

“Let’s get you into the van so we can get you some medical attention.” Coulson helped Barton to stand, and guided him down the alley. The other agents kept their guns trained on them. 

“Are you worried that your friends will go to shoot me and accidently shoot you?” 

“No.”

“Are you going to tell me who you are and what you want?” Barton asked as Coulson helped him into the back of the van. Sitwell sat down heavily next to the seat Barton had slid into. He reached around and handcuffed the assassin's left hand to a spot on the interior of the van. “Kinky,” Barton smirked, but Coulson noted the way Barton’s eyes widened. Barton did not like being held captive. 

Coulson grabbed a med kit and waved over the medic on the van to start working on Barton’s gunshot wound. “We need to get Ms. Richards to safety and Barton to medical. Let’s move people. Let the clean up crew do their jobs.” The van door slid shut behind him, and Coulson glanced at Sitwell, “You need to go to medical too, you were shot.” Sitwell shrugged in response. 

“So, Fury’s going to be annoyed at you,” Sitwell observed. Coulson glared at him, but didn’t respond.

“Who’s Fury?” Clint asked.

“Our boss. His orders did not involve bringing you back alive.” Sitwell grinned. “Thanks for not shooting me in the head, by the way.”

“Killing feds is always bad news. Knew you were wearing a vest. So why am I along for the ride instead of bleeding out in the street?” 

“Because I wanted to talk to you.” Coulson watched Barton’s hand out of the corner of his eye. Barton was moving his hand, his wrist, and his thumb slowly, testing the cuffs. Realization dawned that the injured man was working to pop his thumb out of joint to slip the cuffs. Coulson reached into the med kit, grabbed the sedative, and injected Barton before he could do more than attempt to pull away. “And this is not the time or place.” 

“What the fuck was that for?” Barton squawked.

“Sedative, give it a minute, it will put you under so we can transfer you to medical before you finish escaping from Sitwell’s cuffs.” Coulson met Barton’s eyes, “And it should help with the pain, let the doctors patch you up.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me. I’d rather be dead than rot in an unnamed prison somewhere. And someone has to keep Joni safe.” Barton’s words were already slurring. SHIELD had the good drugs on hand. 

“We’ll protect Ms. Richards. As far as you go, no unnamed prison. No death. I’ll be waiting to talk to you when you wake up.”

“Liar” Barton fought to keep his eyes open.

“I promise,” Coulson said as the sedative took full effect. 

\----

Consciousness and panic slammed into Clint. He attempted to reign in all movement, all outward signs that he was awake. Clint knew from the smell that he was in some sort of medical facility. It took a minute for his medicine fogged brain to remember he’d saved Joni, but gotten himself caught. He twitched his arms to confirm that he was indeed restrained to the bed by some sort of thick cuffs. Eyes closed, he immediately began working on getting his thumb to pop out of joint. It always hurt to squirm out of cuffs, but Clint had a lot of practice. 

“You can stop. I know you’re awake.” A familiar voice said from somewhere in the room. Clint sighed and opened his eyes to see the Agent who had brought him in sitting a few feet away in a hospital chair, typing away on a laptop on the table in front of him. Clint felt his jaw drop. He remembered, as the drugs had pulled him under, that this Agent had promised to be here, and had, for some reason, actually kept his promise. People don’t keep promises to Clint Barton. 

“Joni?” Clint rasped. The Agent..... Coulson? Was that his name? Clint was pretty sure that was it. Coulson stood and came over, grabbing a cup and guiding the straw between Clint’s dry lips. Clint sucked gratefully at the cool water.

“Ms. Richards is fine. We’ve got her in protective custody. I can arrange for you to see her, if you would like.”

“Really? That’s rather nice of you.” Clint had only met Joni twice. Well, and watched her for a couple of days before that.

“Given the nature of your relationship,” Coulson began, but Clint cut him off.

“Fucking once and dancing twice doesn’t make for a relationship.” 

“Perhaps, but placing your body between her and a sniper’s bullet indicates that there might be something more.” Coulson replied calmly. 

“Maybe for normal people, but not so much in this case. She’s sort of a friend, though. I wouldn’t mind making sure she’s okay. I’d have thought, as your prisoner, that wouldn’t be an option.” 

“You aren’t my prisoner.” 

“Yeah?” Clint tugged on his restraints, “Well, I have to tell you then, this relationship is moving pretty fast, I normally don’t let someone tie me to the bed until after the first date.”

“The restraints are there to ensure you waited around to listen to me. I’ll take them off momentarily.” Coulson reached for the buckle on the wrist closest to him as he spoke. “I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced. I am Agent Coulson, of the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division. I’d like to talk to you about recruitment.” Coulson was now actively removing the restraint, like he trusted Clint to neither run nor attempt to take Coulson hostage and fight his way out.

“Pretty sure I’m disqualified from government work.” Clint sniggered at him, trying to hide how much Coulson’s apparent trust had thrown him. “Dishonorably discharged from the army and all.”

“Ah yes, for coming on to a Sergeant Edwards.” Coulson had completely released Clint’s right hand. 

“For the record, I didn’t come on to Edwards. Edwards was a weasley, petty, and stupid man. He kissed me while having someone take a picture, because my CO didn’t like my attitude and was sick of dealing with me.”

“So you were wrongly discharged?” Coulson’s face was blank mask.

“Isn’t everyone kicked out under DADT? And for the record, I was totally banging Jacobs in the shower, we just were careful not to get caught. I’m bisexual, so no army for me.” Clint slowly reached over and began to unbuckle his other hand, one eye on Coulson. Coulson remained immobile, he didn’t even watch as Clint freed himself the rest of the way. Clint forced himself to sit up and stretch a little. 

“Be careful, I’d rather you not tear the stitches.” Coulson sat back down in front of his laptop, both hands on the keyboard, where Clint could see them. Clint’s injury didn’t feel too severe, but that could be the pain meds at work. 

“SHIELD doesn’t care who you have sex with, as long as it doesn’t interfere with your work. We’re much more interested in your marksmanship.” Coulson paused, “And your desire to shield others from harm, while being willing to complete a mission in whatever way we see fit.” 

“I think any file you have on me also says I have issues with trust, authority, and don’t play well with others.” Clint smirked at him.

“I’m aware of what the file says. I also know how to read between the lines. What I can offer you is a job protecting the world, a place to live, steady pay, and a team you can trust at your back.” Coulson reached over and closed the laptop.

“I’ve got one condition.” Clint wasn’t sure why, but all of his instincts told him that this was the right choice, the place he was needed.

“What is it?” 

“You. I work for you. Not SHIELD. You.” Clint held Coulson’s gaze.

“I think we can work with that.”


End file.
